“You’re myonlysister,” Hope mutters.
“Sorry, the two of us can’t be trusted on a twin bed,” I say, unable to help myself. “We’d probably break it within an hour.”
“I told Hope to lose the spare tire?—”
“I meant from all the sex.” I fuckinghatethis sister. It’s why I ignore the desperate look Hope’s trying to give me. We never discussed me spending the night, but dammit if I’m going to go anywhere with Hillary around, even if it means sleeping on Hope’s floor. “We’ll try not to keep you up tonight, but I’m not making any promises. Hope’s a bit of a screamer.”
“I doubt that,” Hillary murmurs.
Something flares in Hope’s eyes—irritation, defiance, challenge? I’m not sure, but it’s certainly turning me on.
“It’s true. Marshall’s so good at making me come that I can’t control the volume.”
My dick hardens at the thought of making Hope come, again and again. Of playing in her deliciously wet valley with my fingers, my tongue, and my cock. I’ve fantasized about all the many ways I could make her come apart more times than I’m willing to admit. I won’t push her to do anything she doesn’t want to do. This isn’t just about sex for me—it’s about a future.
But hell, it’d sure be fun to shut Hillary up.
I shift Hope until she’s standing in front of me, her back to my chest, and wrap my arms around her possessively. She sinks back into me so naturally it’s hard to remember this isn’t real—yet.
“Ready to go to bed?” I say against Hope’s ear, loud enough for her sister to hear.
“You’re really spending the night?” Hillary asks, as though in disbelief.
“He is,” Hope says. “Hope you packed noise-cancelling headphones.”
5
HOPE
I didn’t thinkthis through.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
How thehellam I supposed to get any sleep with Marshall McCray sleeping in my house—in mybedroom?
I push the door closed and sink to the floor against it. Gram sits by my side, licking my cheek.
Damn Hillary and her ability to push me to my limits.
“Hey,” Marshall says, crouching until he’s eye level with me. All I want to do is jump right into his big, strong arms. It’s all those damn toe-curling kisses he’s been stealing throughout the day. Every time Hillary insults me—which let’s be honest, is a lot—he eases the blow with his expert lips.
Lips, I’m certain, that have kissed many, many other women.
It’s the only thing keeping me from making a big mistake and giving in.
And I really want to give in.
I want him to make me scream in the best way.
God it would be so nice to come without having to do all the work myself for once.
“Sorry about that,” I whisper, well aware Hillary’s settling in just across the hall. I wouldn’t put it past her to hover outside my door and eavesdrop, just waiting for the opportunity to call bullshit on this relationship. I’m certain nothing would bring her more delight.
“What do you have to be sorry about?” he asks.
“Really? You have to ask that?”
“It’s not your fault your sister’s an asshole.”
